


lift off

by takeittothestars



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-08 22:14:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1958070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takeittothestars/pseuds/takeittothestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Rena's <a href="http://hellasterek.tumblr.com/tagged/fratboyderek/chrono">gifset AU:</a><br/>"In a world in which the Hales are alive and healthy, Derek grew up to be a very self-confident college student who enjoys living life to the fullest and not denying himself simple pleasures; like drinking with his fratboy buddies, playing sports, or, you know, gangly, awkward, sarcastic and nerd-tastic teenagers who catch his eye."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rena/gifts).



By the end of his first month at college, Derek has fallen in love.

No, really, he has.

UC Santa Barbara is  _it_ for him. He’s not even mad that it’s the furthest from his family up north; he lives on his own beach, there are so many parties he can’t even make it to all of them in one night, and, like,  _he lives on his own beach_. Paradise, as far as he’s concerned, is Isla Vista with a chilled Corona and a volleyball court filled with scantily clad women and men. He pledges Alpha Alpha Alpha and along with basketball, his business major and history minor, he’s basically in a committed relationship. Sure, they have their up’s and down’s – the homophobic bro that got weird around him and Isaac because they were bi that first week in the frat; the STD scare of sophomore year; the Econ class from hell – but what relationship doesn’t? What matters is that he’s here for the long haul. He’s spreading his wings, settling his bachelor ass down and committing to this beauty for the next four years of his life.

It’s fucking sick.

-

‘Dude, relax,’ Erica laughs, punching his arm softly, ‘Boyd and I are dating, not pregnant with each other’s babies.’ 

Derek makes a disgruntled sound and furrows his eyebrows at the beer display in front of him. He’s on grocery duty but it’s like: does he buy the beer he likes more or the beer the majority of the frat likes more? The one on sale? He shakes his head and decides to come back to it later. He’ll deal with cereal for now.

‘It’s weird,’ Derek insists. ‘You’re at – ’ he takes a deep breath and wrinkles his face ‘ – CalPoly.’

‘Damn, you’re right. Better break up with him now, where’s my phone so I can text him the news?’

‘Fuck you,’ he laughs, ‘It’s just such a betrayal, you know what I mean?’

‘You’re the one that introduced us, fucker,’ Erica says, scowling. She shoves a box of condoms in the basket pointedly and jabs a finger into his armpit, and Derek cracks.

‘Kidding, kidding, Reyes! You know it’s my duty as a Gaucho to give you guys shit.’ He draws her into a tight hug, laughing through her protests until she pushes him off and towards the checkout lane, hiding a smile behind her hand.

They wait in the absurdly long line talking about nothing in particular for a few minutes: Cora’s plans for her senior prom, which, honestly, is literal years away; Laura and her new promotion; Erica’s dad’s new girlfriend; some upcoming parties at SLO and IV. It’s her first visit of the school year – they do bimonthly trips – and Derek hasn’t seen her for a whole summer, when she was volunteering in Nicaragua. She’s a little tanner, a little brighter, softer around the edges, and sometimes Derek looks at her and is struck by an overwhelming relief that he actually kept in touch with her after high school. He lost contact with most people, but she’s a little slice of home. Erica scoffs when he tells her so: ‘You just want to get smashed like it’s second semester senior year again.’ 

‘But babe, every day is second semester senior year when you’re in Isla Vista!’ Derek says imploringly, batting his eyelashes. He hears a snort from behind and turns, ready to defend the honor of the IV way of life, but is cut short by moles and freckles and plush lips and messy brown hair he wants to  _tug_ , oh my god. This is indecent.

Derek straightens and grins, ignoring Erica’s mumbled ‘Oh, boy’ as he extends a hand. ‘I haven’t seen you around before,’ he offers. ‘You new?’

The boy – man, Derek revises, when he sees the shoulders under the Star Trek shirt he’s wearing, sees how if they were both standing at their full height he’d have to look up, just a little – ignores the hand, rolling his eyes with a scoff. ‘Freshman,’ he says.

One word. Alright, Derek can work with that. Hell, Derek can work with almost anything. He drops the hand and puts on his most winning smile, taking a step closer. ‘Junior myself. You need someone to show you around?’ 

‘I think I’ll be fine, thanks. You sound busy anyway: all those parties to get to, drinks to spill.’

Derek barks out a surprised laugh. ‘What can I say? Work hard, play hard.’

The guy makes an unimpressed face. ‘You look like you do all of the play and leave the work for the rest of us. So what was it – sports scholarship or is your family rich?’ 

‘Both, actually.’ Derek crosses his arms and flexes just a little, his smile widening when he sees the guy’s eyes drop to them and twin spots of color appear on his cheeks. ‘But I had a 4.0 in high school so, I don’t know, I probably just snuck into this school.’

The guy narrows his eyes. ‘And how’s that GPA doing now? Does it inflate with the size of your ego or is it an inverse relationship?’

‘Funny thing is, I could tell you about inverse relationships all night long. Business major. So if you’re not busy Friday night, we’re having a back-to-school party at the Alpha Alpha Alpha house. You’re welcome to come. I’ll even pick you up.’ Derek high-fives himself mentally for the smooth segue and the impending night. This is an offer this kid really can’t refuse; Alpha Tau parties are legendary, and invites to freshman are things to be treasured. He’s got this.

‘You’re a frat bro too, of course,’ the guy mutters to himself. ‘Sorry,’ he says, louder. ‘I have plans.’

‘Better than my offer?’ He pouts as the line moves forward, nods in thanks when Erica goes to checkout for him so he can stay with this guy.

‘As crazy as it sounds, I don’t live for blackout nights I can’t remember the next morning.’

‘It’s a good thing I wasn’t suggesting that, then.’ The guy raises an eyebrow as Derek moves closer, insinuates himself straight into his space with a low tone. ‘Friday night at 7. Movie, dinner, rose petals and champagne.’ He steps back with a smirk that only grows when he sees the flush that disappears down the guy’s shirt. ‘I’ll throw in chocolate-covered strawberries if you give me your number now.’

The guy splutters for a few seconds, flails his limbs before placing a hand on Derek’s chest and pushing. ‘Drop it, dude. What the hell are you even doing? This isn’t a ‘90s movie where you make a bet and I fall for it. I’m here to study, which is what college is for, in case you forgot.’

‘Nothing wrong with having a little fun along the way,’ Derek says, thrown by his vehement rejection. He actually can’t remember the last time this happened to him. God, what’s wrong with him? How off his game is he after a summer at home?

‘Have it with someone else. Goodbye,’ the guy says with finality. He hefts his basket into place and looks from the exit to Derek. ‘Your girlfriend’s waiting.’

‘She’s not my girlfriend,’ Derek protests without thinking. ‘I’m not anyone’s boyfriend. I could be yours, though.’

‘Two out of ten, better work on that line,’ the guy says, faux apologetic. Erica laughs and reaches out to drag him away, saying something about being late for dinner, but all he can focus on is this guy. Fuck, he’s making Derek work for it.

 ‘Friday night, Alpha Tau house. Be there or you’ll regret it, promise.’

The guy rolls his eyes so hard Derek thinks he might sprain something. ‘I don’t want to go out with you, and I don’t want to party with you, okay? Go home and tell your little frat buddies that you’ve lost the bet. And while you’re losing things, lose this attitude ‘cause not everyone wants on your D, alright? Jesus.’

-

Derek allows himself one day of moping in bed with ice cream and movies before telling himself to nut up and shut up. So, he doesn’t start off his romantic life that great this year – but so what? He’ll forget about the guy soon enough; he’s a minor speed bump, that’s all.

By the time rushing is underway, he’s got a few parties under his belt – a couple girls under him, and no, Isaac, he doesn’t care to know that they’re all skinny with freckles and pixie cuts and great asses, get the fuck away – and the guy at the grocery store is as good as forgotten. With Aiden’s freaky insistence on ‘at least _some_ hazing, come on guys’ to shut down and his truly ridiculouscourse load, he’s barely got enough time to work out, let alone launch a campaign to steal some weirdly indifferent freshman’s heart.

 _‘Dude,’_ Derek says, flopping onto the couch face-first. ‘What the fuck is this? Why the shit am I so busy? I’m a junior, I don’t even have a thesis to worry about.’

‘Stop whining,’ Boyd says from the armchair opposite, tapping away at his laptop. He levels him with a look over the top of his glasses. ‘You knew what you were getting into when you signed up for all your shit.’

‘Somebody’s gotta do it,’ Derek grumbles in response. He rolls over and grabs a pillow to hug as he flips through the channels, settling on a rerun of Scrubs.

He sits in silence, sulking into his morning OJ and kale smoothie, until Boyd puts his laptop down and stretches before rubbing his eyes through a yawn. ‘You ready to call it in, then?’

Derek shrugs, ‘Sure. Take it away,’ and Boyd shouts for the rest of the guys. Derek swings himself upright as the last of the brothers stream in the room, herded by Cal, and picks up his notebook and pen.

Like most years, Alpha Alpha Alpha has a surplus of potential pledges and they need to whittle the list down to a manageable size. There are a few freshmen he’s got his eye on, and as the potential frat president next year (he’s pretty sure he’s got it in the bag though; he thinks Peter might’ve made a threatening call his freshman year to secure it) he wants to make sure all the incoming pledges are chill. He’s got a reputation to uphold, after all.

Boyd projects photos of everyone who’s displayed definite interest in ATO as their top choice on the wall and bit-by-bit, they cut it down until they’re left with 20. Ethan takes a liking to a kid named Jackson, who sneers at them with an impressive vehemence even through the shitty iPhone photo on their wall. Derek thinks he and Aiden like him because they’re basically triplets, down to the Porsche and lacrosse and faces meant for Sean Cody – yeah, he said it. Cal points out a kid named Ennis, and Boyd calmly steers him away from Ennis to a Scott McCall.

-

They celebrate by throwing a party, ABC themed. It’s one of the first true weekends of the school year and what feels like the entire campus comes out in full force, dressed in everything from caution tape to red solo cup bikinis. Derek is talking with Boyd, victorious after a round of beer pong, when he spots the grocery store guy again. He’s smiling now, being dragged through the door by an intimidatingly pretty redhead, and Derek’s heart sinks as Stiles throws his head back and lets out a laugh at whatever she says. He’s wearing what looks like a loincloth made out of pillowcases and the California flag, and Derek is stupidly charmed. He wants to jump and point to his own outfit for the night; a Speedo with a USA flag tied loosely around his neck as a kind of cape. That kind of coordination _means_ things.

Boyd, in his own Speedo next to him, chuckles.

‘What?’ Derek says, feeling affronted. He’s sure his face isn’t betraying him toomuch.

‘Erica told me about your little grocery store run-in. Said she hadn’t seen anything like it since ninth grade.’

‘Oh my god, stop.’ He groans and buries his face in his hands. Boyd laughs, claps a hand on his shoulders, and refills his cup.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’

‘No.’ Derek glares at Boyd and drinks, willing himself not to look back over the crowd and find the guy. He’s weak, though, and even more so with alcohol in him. The guy’s easy enough to spot, his arms flailing as he talks to a group in the corner, arm slung over a cute looking Hispanic guy. He punctuates his story with a fist in the air, and the people around him burst into laughter. ‘You know what?’ Derek says. ‘This is ridiculous. I’m being ridiculous. I can totally do this.’

‘That’s the spirit. Go get ‘em.’

Derek nods and drains his cup, shooting a confident grin at Boyd as he makes his way across the room. Jackson’s joined the group, an arm wound tightly around the waist of the redhead Stiles was with earlier, and Derek does a mental fist pump at the confirmation of Stiles’ relationship status. He grabs a beer and a cup filled with spiked punch and walks over, flag flapping behind him.

‘Hey,’ he says, stepping into the space between the guy and the redhead. ‘Need a drink?’

The guy’s face shutters almost immediately, and Derek tries not to feel too disheartened.

‘I didn’t ask for a drink, but I’ll take one anyway,’ he says, reaching forward for the beer. His fingers are long and slim, veins mapped out across his hands as they curl around the neck of the bottle, and Derek _wants._ ‘I didn’t ask for you, though,’ Stiles is continuing, ‘so you can leave.’

‘Stiles! Don’t be so rude,’ the redhead admonishes. She looks at Derek appraisingly, an expression on her face that makes him want to shrink back, just a little, and cover himself up. He raises his eyebrows instead, refuses to let his smile drop, and holds the name in his head: Stiles.

‘What?’ Stilessays. ‘I’m not interested in frat bro assholes.’

‘Hey, wait, I’m in a frat,’ Jackson says, indignant. ‘I’m in _this_ frat!’

‘We already knew you were an asshole though,’ Stiles says, and reaches out to tweak his nose. He sounds fond, and, like, what the fuck? Stiles likes _Jackson_ and not Derek? The first time Derek met Jackson he had to listen to a ten-minute speech on the hidden cons of owning a BMW. He can’t believe this shit.

The redhead clears her throat. ‘I’m Lydia,’ she says. ‘Jackson’s girlfriend. You’re not unwanted here –’

‘He is,’ Stiles interjects, ‘he is _so_ not wanted here. God, who wears a Speedo to a party. Oh, wait, frat boys do.’

‘– but I think you’re needed.’

She gestures over his shoulder and Derek turns. He nods towards Boyd and the fight he can see through the window, his flag undoing itself and falling to the ground as he does so. There’s a choking sound from behind him and he whips around in concern, but Stiles has turned away, and all he’s doing is drinking beer incredibly enthusiastically. Distantly he hears Lydia say ‘He’s fine, you can go help Boyd,’ but his whole world has narrowed down to the point where Stiles’ lips are wrapped around the top of the bottle, wet and shiny as his throat works it all down. His ears grow hot and for the first time that night, he damns Cal for decreeing Speedos the mandatory Alpha uniform of the night. Stiles comes up for air and wipes the back of his hand across his mouth and Derek decides, for the sake of his sanity, to turn away.

He and Boyd break up the fight easily enough, a dumb thing about a cheating girlfriend, and Boyd sends them on their way with a ‘Bros above all; this is why you’re not an Alpha. Get out and don’t come back.’ It sobers him up, and he spends the rest of the night keeping watch by the kegs. He watches one particular freshman a little too much, but he can’t help it, alright? Stiles goes from chatting with his friends to a game of flip cup where he comes out spectacularly smashed, and then straight to the dance floor. His dances range from uncomfortably sexual, hips moving like they’ve got a vendetta against Derek’s dick, to dance moves which make everyone around him roar with laughter – but then again, those make Derek’s Speedo feel much too tight, too. At some point Erica texts him _lol heard from isaac ur moping into a solo cup bc grocery store guy won’t give you the time of day_. Derek Snapchats back a video of Stiles dancing with six different crying Emojis as the caption.

-

‘It just doesn’t make any sense,’ Derek says, he and Isaac rounding the corner towards his car.

Isaac laughs. ‘Have you thought that maybe, he’s just not that into you? Maybe he has a type, and it’s not you.’

‘No, I’m –’

‘If you say you’re everyone’s type like Jackson keeps saying, I will cut you and eat your egg rolls.’ Isaac gestures threateningly at the bag dangling from Derek’s hand.

‘Not that,’ Derek says with a laugh. ‘But, I was in a Speedo and, I mean, we were both buzzed, and he was wearing almost nothing, and it was a…’

‘A missed connection?’ Isaac suggests.

‘A done deal. Except for it not actually being done,’ Derek grumbles. Isaac laughs even more as he clicks the door open, but nods attentively anyway. ‘I just don’t get it. Like, I’ve never had problems getting girls or guys, so I don’t get what the problem is.’

‘Is he straight?’

‘I don’t think so.’ He shakes his head. ‘Like, usually when you hit on a straight guy they tell you right away that they’re straight, and he didn’t. And he’s not waiting ‘til marriage or anything, because usually they mention that too. I just – I want to get to know him, you know?’

Isaac hums noncommittally. He fishes inside the bag for a potsticker and takes a bite, pointing to their right as he chews. ‘Here’s your chance.’

Derek’s heart does a little flip in his chest. Stiles and the floppy-haired guy are on the grass, tossing a lacrosse ball back and forth while Lydia and a brunette sit by them. Stiles bends down to scoop the ball up with his stick and Derek whimpers inside at the resulting view. Isaac gives a low whistle, harmless enough, but it still makes Derek bristle.

‘Hey, beautiful!’ Derek yells.

‘Are you talking to me?’ Stiles yells back, bringing a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun. He squints, recognizing Derek, and his resulting eye roll would be perceptible from a mile away.

‘Obviously. Come to the movies tonight with me, I’ll pick you up at seven.’

‘Uh, how about no? I still don’t know what kind of game you’re playing or what bet you made and probably lost, but I’m not going out with you. This stuff isn’t a joke to everyone, you know?’

‘I’m not playing games,’ Derek says, slightly taken aback. He can’t believe Stiles still thinks that – what is this, some ‘90s teen flick? God, what’s wrong with his face?Does he just come across as shady and untrustworthy?

‘You don’t even know my name.’

‘Stiles. Your name is Stiles. I saw you, Saturday night. Remember?’

‘Huh. I didn’t think you’d remember. Well, I’m still not going out with someone who always assumes everyone wants to jump his D and doesn’t know how to phrase questions properly.’

‘Fine, play hard to get. But, you know, you will go out with me.’

He unlocks the Camaro and slides in, watching triumphantly as Stiles tries and fails to get the last word. ‘This foreplay is the weirdest,’ Isaac mutters. Derek ignores him. He rolls his window down as he starts the engine and calls out, ‘Hope your day is as sweet as you are!’

‘Your car’s a joke!’ Stiles shouts back. ‘Overcompensating much? And the backwards baseball cap needs to stop, what are you even?’

‘Anything you want me to be, babe.’ He winks as they leave, still smiling from the sound of his friends’ laughter in the air when he sees Isaac’s face. ‘What?’ he asks, smile dropping.

‘You’re ridiculous.’ Isaac sounds fond, of all things, and that’s just unacceptable. Derek glares and punches the radio on.

‘Shut up and listen to the news or I’ll tear your throat out. With my teeth.’

-

Derek doesn’t _stalk_ Stiles after that, no matter how much Ethan insists he does. He’s sat through too many lectures from Laura on Nice Guys (he still doesn’t get why that’s capitalized) to do that. But he can’t help but notice where his and Stiles’ schedules coincide. It’s fate, right? The circadian rhythms within their body, years of routines and habit – all pointing to them joining together. Fate.

Maybe he also starts doing things for Stiles. Not, like, leaving dead animals on his front porch, but little things. Like buying a cupcake and a latte to send over to Stiles, who sits in the back corner of his favorite coffee shop buried beneath textbooks and his laptop when Derek grabs coffee for the house on Thursday nights. (The first time he did that, Stiles had looked around for a minute with a small smile on his face before he saw Derek at the counter. Then he looked embarrassed and angry at the same time, glared, and pointedly slashed into the foam heart on his coffee with a straw; after that, Derek asked the barista to draw sad faces and broken hearts instead.)

Or asking the gym, which Stiles leaves right as Derek enters, to play Nat King Cole’s Love whenever their paths cross. Or, when he spots the blue Jeep Stiles has around campus, leaving a Post-It note with a cheesy pick-up line on it. Stiles never reciprocates, and more often than not leaves Post-It notes of his own with angry faces and ‘ _ATO frat – are you actually 12’_ scrawled across them – but he doesn’t tell Derek to _stop_ either.

So, when he spots Stiles on campus after his last class on Thusday, he shrugs, and jogs over to him.

‘Hey,’ he says casually, falling into step beside Stiles. ‘How’s it going? How are your classes?

‘They’d be better if you weren’t constantly bothering me. Some poor soul who needs heart surgery in the future will die on the table, because _you_ keep distracting me,’ Stiles huffs, shooting Derek a look out of the corner of his eye. He’s not wearing his glasses today and it makes him seem younger, less severe. Derek likes it.

‘I’m sure you’re doing fine,’ he says. ‘So, you want to be a doctor?’

‘Hoping.’ Stiles sighs and he looks tired all of a sudden, weary beyond his years and Derek’s heart feels strange. Stiles rubs a hand over his face, tugs on the collar of the tight high school cross country shirt he’s wearing, and Derek has a terrifying thought that he’d do almost anything to fix whatever’s making Stiles look like this – but then Stiles shakes himself out of it, and casts a disdainful look down at Derek’s t-shirt.

‘Jack Johnson? _Really?’_

‘What? I like him,’ Derek says, and okay, now he’s kind of offended. Jack Johnson is _great._

‘Of course you do.’ Stiles rolls his eyes and Derek narrows his.

‘So, what,’ he says, ‘You know every bone in the human body so you have discerning tastes? And listen to Bach and shit?’

Stiles stops at the foot of the stairs they’ve reached and looks at Derek, a gleam in his eyes that wasn’t there before. ‘If I said yes?’

‘Then I’d tell you that you’re a huge dick, and get you blacklisted at every party on campus.’

‘Well, then – yes.’ He grins and turns around, taking the steps two at a time as he shoots a salute over his shoulder. Derek breathes in heavily through his nose, and exhales through his mouth like he learned at yoga with Cora. Stiles is the worst, he decides. Stiles is the worst, and Derek’s traitorous libido and heart are also the worst.

-

‘I hear you’re still stuck on grocery store guy,’ Erica says as soon as the call connects.

He glares at her through the computer screen and hopes Skype can convey the full force of his displeased eyebrows. She laughs at him, so it’s 50-50 on that.

‘His name’s Stiles,’ he says finally. Erica grins like she’s the fucking cat that caught the canary, teeth blindingly white between her red lipstick, and Derek regrets the moment his eighth grade-self sat next to the new girl at lunch so, so much.

‘Boyd says you’ve been sulking. ‘Brooding and grumpy with a side of Justin Timberlake’ were his exact words.’

‘What – He doesn’t – Boyd doesn’t know _shit_ ,’ Derek says vehemently. His running playlist made up of entirely self-esteem boosting songs from the President of Pop is a treasure, okay, and Boyd with his Fleet Fox and Coals can leave. He doesn’t hear him complain when they lift to Usher, anyway.

Erica cackles, but when she calms her face is unnervingly serious. ‘You wanna talk about it?’

Derek refuses to talk. He stares at a spot on the table next to the laptop and draws circles around the rim of his mug with his finger. When he sighs and looks back up after a couple minutes, Erica’s waiting patiently with her chin propped up on her knees. Damn how well she knows him. ‘Okay,’ he relents. ‘I just – He won’t even talk to me for more than a minute without telling me how much he hates me, let alone go on a _date_ with me. I don’t get why.’

Erica nods. ‘So, what’ve you been doing? What’s the Derek Hale Seduction Plan?’

He makes a face at her words.

‘No, really. I hear you’ve become softcore Edward Cullen.’

Derek frowns. ‘Who?’

‘Oh my god,’ she mumbles. ‘God give me strength. I can’t believe you’re in a frat, I feel like you were born in the ‘70s.’

‘70s had the best parties,’ Derek points out.

She flaps a hand at him. ‘Not the point.’

‘I...guess I’ve been trying to talk to him a lot? I don’t know,’ he groans, rubbing his hand over his two-day old stubble, ‘I’ve never done this much before.’

‘Aw, poor baby. Developed abs instead of game and now he can’t get a date?’ Erica pouts, mocking, but the more Derek thinks about it, the more he thinks she might be right. He’s never really thought about it like that before, but he started getting muscles in junior high; he knows what he looks like. He comes from good genes, good money, so he’s confident too, but maybe…overly so?

‘Erica,’ he says urgently, ‘Erica.’ He flattens his palms on either side of his laptop and leans in. ‘Am I a huge dick?’

Erica laughs so hard she falls out of the screen.

‘I’m serious! Erica, come on! Am I a huge douchebag and, like, I don’t know it? Is that why he hates me? Do _you_ hate me? _Erica!’_

-

‘I can’t believe you’re making me do this,’ Derek grouses, for probably the fortieth time that hour. Boyd rolls his eyes from the passenger seat, crunching loudly on his bag of Doritos.

‘We offered to pay for you, you’re the one that wanted to Tri-Delt againthis Halloween rather than come to Six Flags.’

‘The principle stands; I’m still driving, like, six hours to drop your ass off and go right back home.’ He comes to a stop outside Erica’s apartment complex and grins in a way completely belying his words as Boyd gets out.

‘I know you’re excited to listen to the Dan Brown audiobook uninterrupted on the way back, don’t even try to front.’ He tosses the empty chip bag back inside the Camaro, smiles over his shoulder as he hoists his North Face backpack further up his shoulder.

‘Have fun,’ Derek calls, waves and watches Boyd ring the doorbell before making a U-turn back home.

-

He ends up being a good hour late to the Delta Delta Delta Halloween party, showing up when the bass is already pumping and there are red Solo cups littered everywhere. A few guys yell a greeting when he comes in, a girl appears out of nowhere to push a drink in his hand, and then he’s saying hi to Kali, the president of the Delta’s, without really being sure how he found her in the first place.

‘You’re kidding me,’ she says when she sees him. ‘What kind of a bullshit costume is that?’

‘I’m a football player.’ He looks down at his jersey and jeans and, okay, so it’s nowhere near her Catwoman, but he tried. A little.

She snorts. ‘This is worse than the Wolverine one last year, Derek. C’mon, one round of beer pong with me, and then we’re heading up to make you look presentable.’

It turns out Jackson, even when wearing a full body Eeyore costume, is the shit at beer pong. Kali and his beginning roars and chest bumps of _‘Dream pong team, 3 years strong!’_ are met with smirks from Jackson and Danny, and they proceed to get absolutely crushed – something that’s not helped by their insistence on upping the stakes by replacing beer with tequila.

‘This is dumb,’ Kali says, slurring just a little, at the end of the game, ‘you guys are freshmen.’

‘Yeah,’ Derek agrees, pointing an accusatory finger at Jackson. ‘You – Jackson, you’re out of Alpha Tau, leave now, don’t come back, I never liked you.’

‘You loved me from the beginning,’ Jackson says with a shit-eating grin.

Derek makes a face before giving into Kali’s insistent tugging on his sleeve. He follows her to her room where she takes out a box of makeup and sits him down on her bed. Between the two of them, they manage two somewhat uniform looking stripes on his cheeks while complaining drunkenly about season four of Arrested Development, and Kali smiles triumphantly before leaving Derek alone to… He’s not sure why, actually, just knows that somebody called and she left him to fiddle with her origami. After a few minutes of curiously inspecting the photos tucked in the corners of her mirror he realizes he’s being creepy and hurriedly pushes out of the door, head spinning as he bumps straight into Stiles.

‘Whoa,’ Stiles says, ‘sorry man.’ He looks too drunk to even make it down the stairs alive, wobbling on his legs like a baby deer, so Derek reaches out to steady him with a hand on his arm. Derek feels a little like a newborn animal as well, so he mostly succeeds in falling into Stiles, rather than supporting him.

Stiles looks up and Derek braces himself for the incoming glare, the recoil and shove, but instead all he does is stare. In the dark of the hallway, the planes of his face are cast into shadow, eyes glinting brightly and mouth hanging open, a silhouette that Derek’s almost afraid to want for fear of – he’s not sure what. He licks his lips unthinkingly and he swears he sees Stiles’ gaze drop, just a little, and all of a sudden he’s too hot and the music a floor below seems miles away. He tilts his face ever so slightly, just to see, just in case, and the hitch in Stiles breath is loud in the empty hall.

 _Fuck it,_ Derek thinks, and curls a hand around Stiles’ shoulder as he presses their lips together.

After a long moment Stiles kisses back, and Derek’s knees give out with relief. ‘Whoa there,’ Stiles laughs, breathless. Derek surges forward, licking into his mouth like he’s wanted to since the first moment he saw him, and Stiles tightens his arms around Derek’s back.

‘You,’ Derek says, and promptly gets distracted by the mole by Stiles’ lip, the freckle on his cheek.

‘You?’

‘You make me so angry sometimes,’ he finishes, and Stiles laughs again, like it’s the best thing he’s ever heard. Derek thinks distantly that kissing him like this is like tasting the sun, like smooth brandy the colour of Stiles’ eyes.

‘I make you angry? Bullshit, coming from you.’ Stiles pulls back just enough to glare at Derek, face flushed as he goes slightly cross-eyed. Fuck Derek’s life, he even thinks that’s _cute._ Like he can tell exactly what Derek’s thinking, Stiles smirks, runs his hands down to Derek’s ass, squeezing once, hard, and shoves a thigh between his legs.

‘Fuck,’ Derek groans, dropping his head forward as he grinds into Stiles.

‘You wanna?’ Stiles whispers back and shit, yes, Derek can’t pull him into a spare room fast enough. He pushes Stiles against the door, thinking vaguely that he’d wanted to do this right, but then Stiles flips them around, and drops to his knees. He’s got Derek’s jeans down in record time, mouths at him through his boxer briefs, looking up through his glasses, and then, yeah, Derek’s brain goes offline after that.

He pulls Stiles off almost immediately, the wet, hot heat around his cock too much to handle. He wants this to last; even drunk out of his mind, he knows that much. ‘Bed,’ he mumbles into Stiles’ lips, the taste of himself on Stiles’ tongue making him dizzy He picks Stiles up and Stiles' long legs wrap tightly around Derek’s waist as he sucks at Derek’s neck. Derek drops him on the bed and draws back to look at him, sprawled out and debauched-looking already.

Stiles’ eyes are dark and hungry as he watches Derek pull the rest of his clothes off, but he makes no move to undress himself, which, bad, obviously. ‘Off,’ Derek commands, swatting at Stiles’ white button-up as he flops onto the bed. ‘What’re you s’pposed to be, anyway?’

With a smirk, Stiles starts unbuttoning his shirt, revealing a Superman shirt underneath. ‘Clark Kent. You wanna be my Lois Lane tonight?’ Derek bursts into laughter and tips forward, swallowing Stiles’ giggles with greedy kisses, only breaking to pull Stiles’ shirt off. Then it’s all bare skin, pale despite the Santa Barbara sun but dotted with moles and a tantalizing happy trail leading south, broad shoulders and a chest that Derek promptly ducks his head to suck a hickey into. Stiles kicks his pants off and Derek laughs again at the Superman briefs he’s wearing.

‘Commitment, okay? I go all the way,’ Stiles huffs, and Derek nods absentmindedly as he pulls the briefs down, mouth watering at the sight of Stiles’ red cock, already slick with pre-come. He sucks on the head, holds Stiles down when he arches up into it, and licks one, long stripe up the underside before returning to Stiles’ mouth.

‘How d’you want this to go?’ he asks.

Stiles sucks at his bottom lip, long fingers raking through his hair, and he whimpers when Derek squeezes his ass. ‘Wanna ride you,’ he says breathily, and flips them over.

Lying back, Derek watches as Stiles reaches for the lube on the side table – never let it be said that Kali is a bad hostess – and slicks up his fingers, reaching behind him and moaning. Derek’s entranced at first, can’t look away from Stiles’ mouth, hanging open and puffy, or the scratch marks that Derek left across his chest, before scrambling to help.

‘Let me,’ he says, sliding his hands back to meet Stiles.

‘It’ll be faster if I – ’

‘Let me,’ Derek insists, and Stiles falls silent, squeezing his eyes shut and bracing both hands on Derek’s chest, allowing Derek to open him up. Derek scissors his fingers, works up to three, until Stiles is fucking himself back onto them. It’s been a while since Derek’s done more than blowjobs with a guy, and he can’t for the life of him imagine why he’s been depriving himself of things like the wet, hot heat around his fingers, the promise of that around his cock as Stiles moans.

‘Derek, Derek, I’m – now, I’m good, c’mon.’ Stiles pulls off, rolls a condom on Derek clumsily and that touch alone makes him shiver – and then Stiles is straddling his hips and aligning himself, sliding down until Derek’s bottomed out with a groan.

‘Fuck, _Stiles,’_ he keens, fingernails digging into the sharp cut of Stiles’ hips. Above him Stiles is panting slightly, eyes closed, the best thing Derek’s ever seen.

He opens his eyes and smirks, ‘That’s the idea’, rolls his hips, and Derek sees stars.

Stiles keeps up a relentless rhythm, an endless string of choked off _Derek’s_ falling from his mouth as he rides him and Derek’s helpless to do anything more than watch, dazed by it. He’s probably – definitely – too drunk to deal with this at all; it’s too much, an overload on his senses, Stiles everywhere, surrounding him, and he doesn’t even know where to start, so he settles for pulling Stiles down and plastering their bodies together. The shift allows him to thrust up more, and the change in angle results in even more curses spilling from Stiles’ mouth, a bite to his neck on a particularly hard thrust, nails scraping down his chest and digging in.

Stiles keeps whimpering his name, making little, helpless noises Derek doesn’t even think he’s aware of, babbling nonsense. It works Derek up more than he’d like to admit, but he wants Stiles to come before him, wants to watch him fall apart, so he flips them over and gets to it with the kind of single-minded dedication he usually reserves for, well, Stiles.

‘God, Derek,’ Stiles groans. He wraps his legs around Derek’s waist and grinds up to meet him; Derek wants to smirk, toss back a snappy retort, but he finds he’s oddly powerless in the face of long eyelashes across a mole-dotted face, the soft curve of his mouth as it hangs lax.

‘Stiles – Stiles,’ he whispers urgently.

‘Y-Yeah?’

‘I need – I want – Come for me,’ he says helplessly, pulling every trick out of his arsenal, _‘Come for me.’_

‘Fuck you,’ Stiles mutters, but he throws his head back and falls apart, a symphony of moans falling from his mouth as Derek holds him in his arms.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooooooo i'mma just throw this at you and run away quickly, hoping madly that you won't notice it's been basically a year. sorry? life got intense? anyways, endless thank you's to everyone who has been patiently cheerleading for me throughout this process. hope you enjoy!

Derek wakes up with the sun streaming in through the window, a smile on his face, and a naked Stiles next to him. In other words: it’s a good freaking morning.

He stretches his arms above his head and sighs happily to himself as he stands up. Just as he’s retrieving his boxer briefs from the other side of the room, Stiles rolls over and props himself up on his elbows, blinking his eyes open groggily.

‘So,’ Derek says, pulling his jeans on and figuring it’s no use beating around the bush, they’ve touched dicks, they’ve passed the point of subtleties, ‘this was equal parts surprising and phenomenal. Not that it was surprising that it was phenomenal, of course. Just your sudden change of heart regarding me. But I’m not complaining.’

‘Right,’ Stiles says. He sits up fully and presses his hands into his eyes, letting out a breath as he surveys the room silently. As he swings himself to the side, letting his legs hang over the side of the bed, the air in the room seems to shift, tensing up where it was lazy and soft a moment ago. Derek buckles his belt quickly. He flexes his hands, not sure what to do with them all of a sudden. ‘Yeah,’ Stiles says, ‘you know, I should probably get going. No, I should…I should definitely get dressed and get going.’

‘Uh – ’ Derek steps forward, dropping down onto the bed next to Stiles. ‘Dude, are you okay?’

‘Sure, I’m peachy. Why would you ask me that?’

‘Because…well, you look like you regret...’

‘Yeah, well, maybe I do,’ Stiles spits out. ‘But hey, at least now you can tell your buddies all about your latest conquest. Cash in the kegs you’ll get for winning the bet.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Derek says slowly.

‘Does it matter? You got what you wanted, right?’

‘You really still think this, everything I said, everything I did, was just about getting into your pants?’

‘What else would it be about?’ Stiles looks at Derek like he’s dumb, like there couldn’t possibly be any other reason.

‘Right,’ Derek huffs, closing his eyes briefly. There’s a sinking feeling in his chest, like a ship capsizing. ‘‘Cause I’m just a fratboy, and thus I can’t be genuinely interested in someone. We’re all just dumb assholes who are constantly drunk and trying to get some.’

‘I don’t – ’ Stiles looks taken aback. ‘I don’t think you’re any of those things,’ he says in a small voice.

‘Don’t you?’ Derek presses on. ‘After all the things you’ve accused me of, and all the prejudices you have against jocks and frats, I’m kind of surprised you didn’t throw words like ‘racist’ or ‘rapist’ into the mix. Just because I’m not ashamed of enjoying my life doesn’t mean I’m an asshole. Out of the two of us – ’ he motions between Stiles and himself ‘ – I’m not the one going around and toying with other people’s feelings. Look, if you hate everything I am so much, why’d you sleep with me?’

‘Derek, I – ’ Stiles’ eyes flit around the room, at a loss for words.

That’s all Derek needs.

‘You should probably go.’

Stiles looks at him, mouth hanging open. He nods once before standing up and quickly gathering everything, and then he’s at the door, pushing a hand through his hair and giving the room, and Derek, one last glance.

He opens his mouth as if to speak, before seeming to think better of it and shaking his head minutely. Giving a jerky wave with the hand he’s holding his phone in, he turns, and then he’s out the door, leaving Derek gaping on the bed and wondering how the hell his morning turned around so quickly.

*

The problem with rejection, Derek thinks, is that it’s never quite as easy to recover from as the movies make it out to be. He’s had time to lick his wounds, he’s vented over pints of ice cream – but every time he thinks of Stiles, it stings like salt rubbed into a fresh cut.

He’s everywhere and nowhere all at once. Popping up at the most inopportune times: two tables down on the one date Derek went on right before Thanksgiving, passing Derek on the quad the week he’d been red-eyed and congested; and very pointedly not there in the moments when Derek aches for him: when formal comes and Derek’s date is the wrong height, the wrong gender, the wrong everything.

But it’s fine. Derek’s a big boy; he’ll get over it.

*

Derek and Erica make the trip up home for winter break together, whiling away the six-hour drive home with gossip about all their old high school classmates on top of a never-ending stream of Kanye West and Jay-Z. They pull into town at three in the afternoon, 99 Problems playing, and Derek drops her off at her house with a wave and a promise to get their high school gang back together again soon.

It’s a weird feeling parking in his driveway again; like coming home, but a home that’s half a size too small, filled with memories that he hasn’t been around for, busy making his own down in Santa Barbara. He parks his car, switches the engine off, and just as he’s pulling his duffel bag out of the trunk, the front door opens and Peter runs out, barking like Derek’s a life-size chew toy.

‘Hey buddy,’ Derek laughs, bending down to scratch their dog behind the ears. He looks up at his house, his home, and lets out a quiet breath, before saying softly, ‘Missed you too.’

*

‘C’mon, spill,’ Laura says, at the end of their annual Christmas game of King’s cup. She leans back against her couch and turns an assessing look on Derek. Next to her, Eric, their oldest brother, nods seriously and pulls his hair back into a bun before scratching at his beard thoughtfully.

Derek groans and claps both hands to his face, mumbling incoherently behind them. If he weren’t quite as drunk right now, he’d probably be embarrassed at how he’s acting, but as it is – whatever.

‘What’d I miss?’ Cora asks, coming back from the kitchen and looking in askance at Derek, now flopped over on his armchair in utter despair. She stifles a giggle and hands each of them a glass of water.

‘Derek’s about to tell us why his dating M.O. has changed so dramatically this year,’ Laura says.

‘Ah,’ Cora hums. She cups her chin in her hand before turning to look at Derek expectantly.

He parts two fingers so he can look out at his siblings with one eye, trying his drunken best to throw an accusatory glare out at them. All he gets in return is judgmental patience. Finally, he drops his hands from his face and adjusts himself in his chair, sighing heavily before pouring himself some more tequila.

‘I need six drink Derek if I’m going to be talking about this with all of you.’

‘Good call,’ Laura says approvingly.

Once he’s finished his drink and waited for it to set in a little, he huffs and says, ‘It’s nothing.’

‘Obviously not,’ Cora snorts.

Shooting a glare at her, Derek continues. ‘It’s a boy.’

‘Ah,’ Laura says gleefully, dragging the sound out. ‘A boy, eh?’ She wiggles her glasses salaciously. Derek’s not even sure how it’s possible to move glasses in a salacious manner, but – Laura’s always defied expectations.

‘What’s his name?’ Eric asks.

‘Stiles.’

Derek’s met with silence for a solid half minute, before Cora scrunches up her face. ‘Styles? Like, I’m styling? Like, Harry Styles? Like, Styles For Less that just opened up next to Target?’

‘Stiles, with an I. It’s weird, I know. It’s a nickname because – I’m actually not sure why,’ Derek says, and trails off, mourning how much he doesn’t actually know about Stiles.

‘Okay, that doesn’t matter,’ Cora says dismissively, waving her hand as if to bat the name away. Derek gives her an affronted look – how dare she say any part of Stiles doesn’t matter? He matters! In fact, every human being on Earth matters, Derek thinks to himself matter-of-factly. He takes another sip of tequila.

‘Anyway, what’s the deal with this Stiles guy?’ Eric asks.

‘He just…won’t go out with me,’ Derek says, shrugging. ‘It’s – ’

‘If you say it’s not a big deal, I will eat all the Rocky Road,’ Cora threatens.

Derek holds his hands up in surrender, shakes his head, sighs. ‘So it’s sort of a big deal, whatever.’

Laura looks at him thoughtfully. ‘It’s not like you to get hung up on someone,’ she says.

‘Yeah, I know.’ He rubs a hand over his face in defeat. ‘I have no idea what to do, guys. He’s made it so clear that he’s not interested.’

‘So get over him,’ Cora says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

‘I wish I could,’ Derek groans. ‘I can’t stop thinking about him!’

And it’s the truth, really. He can’t stop thinking about the soft smile on Stiles’ face right before he woke up and realised who was in the room with him. He can’t stop thinking about the curve of his ass, the arch of his back, the moles dotted on every inch of skin as he peeled back the layers of clothing. He can’t stop thinking about  _Stiles,_ plain and simple, all the jabs and eye rolls and that Halloween night most of all.

‘What you need to do,’ Laura says, her fingers steepled, ‘is fuck a lot of people until you forget about Stiles.’

Cora nods approvingly. ‘Set up a Tinder! Maybe you’ll find that hot student teacher on it.’

‘Maybe he’ll find  _you_ on it,’ Eric cackles, pointing at Cora, and she flushes a deep red before throwing a pillow at him.

Derek frowns to himself. First of all, when did Cora get a Tinder? When did their little baby sister become a Tinder-using person?  _He’s_  not even a Tinder-using person, and Derek’s arguably the sluttiest member of their family, excluding Great Aunt Tilda. But secondly, Tinder and dates and hookups – that might just be the answer. Derek’s been wallowing in his rejection, and maybe he should try the opposite approach. Yeah, he decides with a nod. He’ll do that.

*

He’s back in Isla Vista by the time he finally has time for Tinder – the holiday season is always jam-packed with festivities, and this year was no exception. Between meeting up with his high school gang and all the family activities, there wasn’t any time for anything else.

That’s a good thing, though. Every busy moment took Derek’s mind off Stiles - not that he's still thinking about Stiles, or anything.  _Fuck,_ when did he become so okay with lying to himself?

But now, Derek's back at the kitchen island on a Tuesday evening, watching Isaac and Boyd cook dinner. He opens the Tinder app on his phone and idly begins swiping left and right. He gets a couple matches, finds Isaac (‘21. ATO at UCSB. I’m laidback, I wear a lot of scarves, I’m bi (down for threesomes), and I’m looking for a hiking buddy. HMU for anything!’) before someone messages him.

Her name’s Allison, and the two of them make small talk for a few minutes, introducing themselves. She’s studying to become a high school teacher, which, well, Derek’s not sure what it says for someone’s sanity that they’d want to spend a lifetime dealing with hormonal teenagers, but she likes dogs and she does archery for fun and, most importantly, she’s free Friday night.

*

‘I can’t believe you agreed to meet up with the first person who talked to you on Tinder,’ Isaac groans, dramatically slapping a hand to his forehead.

‘I didn’t know it was against Tinder etiquette! Nobody told me!’ Derek’s flipping through his closet, looking for something to wear for his date. It’s Friday night, an hour before he’s scheduled to meet Allison at her favourite Italian place, and he’s being given the lecture of his life on internet safety from Isaac.

‘She could be a serial killer!’ Isaac insists for probably the fiftieth time. ‘For all you know, she’s plotting to drag you behind a bush and slit your throat with a steak knife on the romantic walk you take after dinner.’

‘A bush? Why would a seasoned murderer drag me behind a bush?’

Isaac waves his hand vaguely. ‘Who knows what goes through the mind of a serial killer. Anyway, I’ll be on hand if you need me, alright? Invite me to play Words With Friends if you need me to swoop.’

‘Right. Because you could rescue me from a serial killer.’

‘I went all the way up to a brown belt, I’ll have you know.’

‘Allison teaches krav maga and yoga at the center downtown,’ Derek says flatly.

‘Never mind, you’re as good as dead. It’s been good knowing you. I’ll start writing a teary Instagram post.’

Derek rolls his eyes, closes his closet, and turns around to examine himself in the mirror. He’s not sure if a button-down and a blazer is too formal, but he figures he’s wearing jeans and Sperry’s, so it all evens out. With a final spritz of his John Varvatos cologne and a reassurance to Isaac that he’ll still be alive by the end of the night, he’s out the door and on his way.

*

Allison is adorable.

They meet at the park, five minutes away from Café Italia, and spend the walk over introducing themselves all over again. In the couple days since they’ve talked, Allison’s changed her major to undeclared – she’s exploring her options now, thinking about criminology, or poli-sci. She shows him a photo of her cat back home, a tiny ginger Scottish fold named Beast, named so for her love of Beauty and the Beast and her twelve-year-old belief that he would grow up into a fierce and mighty warrior. He does, she informs Derek, bring home the occasional sponge, so it’s not completely off the mark.

Arriving at the restaurant, and now seated, Derek counters with a photo of Peter, their black lab, and as he’s passing the phone across the table to her –

‘You!’ a voice that shouldn’t be that familiar says.

Derek, heart in his throat, looks up.

And standing there jaunty red, white, and green apron tied around his waist and pen in hand, is Stiles, looking at him with narrowed eyes.

‘Are you following me?’ he asks, accusing. ‘How do you know I work here? What are you doing –’

He cuts himself off, looking across the table at Allison, who gives him an awkward smile and wave.

‘Hi, Stiles,’ she says. ‘

‘Allison, hey! Okay, so that answers that question.’ He shakes his head briefly to himself, and mutters something under his breath. ‘Sorry, I’ll get back on script.’ Stiles looks up, and just like that he’s got a charming grin on his face. He flips his notebook open and presses the tip of the pen to the open page. ‘I’m Stiles, I’ll be your server tonight. Can I get you started with any drinks?’

‘Just water, thanks,’ Allison says.

‘Same here.’

‘Alright, great! I’ll give you some time to look at the menu and I’ll be back with those waters in a minute.’ He smiles, and is gone just as quickly as he appeared.

There’s silence at their table for a minute, before Derek and Allison both open their mouths to speak at the same time.

‘So that was – ’

‘I’m sorry – ’

They laugh, and Allison motions for Derek to go first.

‘So, how do you know Stiles?’

‘I, uh, dated his best friend for a while.’ She smiles stiltedly, pressing her lips together and nodding, before looking at up at Derek, eyebrows raised. ‘You?’

‘We, uh, we – ’ He looks pleadingly up at Allison, and she tilts her head at him, somehow managing to convey an immense amount of judgment in those thirty degrees shifted. Derek flushes. ‘We might have hooked up,’ he rushes out, and turns to Stiles, who’s just arrived back at their table, before he can see her response.

‘Here are your waters, and are you ready to order or do you need another minute?’

‘We’re not ready to order,’ Allison says quickly, waving him away before turning on Derek. She leans in across the table, propping her chin up on her hand. When she smiles, she looks sweet, but Derek knows that’s all a front – she’s a shark inside, he knows that now. Isaac was right. He’ll probably be dead by the time this night is over. ‘So you hooked up, huh?’

Derek flicks his eyes around him, as if asking for an escape. He considers making a break for the bathroom, but he’s not a coward. He won’t be. ‘Yes,’ he says grudgingly. ‘Look, it’s not a big deal.’

Allison opens her mouth, clearly about to rebut that, but Derek – Okay, Derek is a coward.

‘Listen, can we not talk about this?’ he asks. He’s not sure if glaring or looking pitiful would work better, so he settles for a straight poker face.

Allison’s eyes go soft, and the corners of her mouth tilt up in a forgiving smile. ‘Yeah, of course. Of course.’

*

The rest of the date goes fine.

He orders the lasagna, she gets some sort of squash pasta, and he only stares at Stiles’ ass a few times. That’s a victory, as far as Derek’s concerned. He walks Allison back to her dorm and they don’t kiss, but they do hug, with what Derek feels like is the mutual unspoken agreement to never talk about dating each other ever again.

It’s Derek’s first date in an awfully long time, and it’s – okay, he thinks to himself, lying on his bed. There wasn’t a spark, and there won’t be a second date, but he put himself out there. It’s a step forward, and that’s all that matters.

*

The next date is a solid month later.

Derek’s resigned himself to spending Valentine’s Day alone, in his bed, with ice cream, and Mila Kunis. All things considered, it’s not a bad place to be. Would he rather be out on a date, possibly getting laid? Probably. Does he have the effort to make such a thing happen? Absolutely not.

There’s a knock on his door, and Isaac comes in without waiting for an answer. Derek lets out a low whistle when he enters, wiggling his eyebrows at the coat that Isaac reserves for special occasions only.

‘Eh? Right? Right?’ Isaac says, giving a spin and smoothing down the lapels of his coat. ‘Anyway, c’mon, I got you a date for tonight,’ he says, jerking his head towards the door.

‘I have a date for tonight.’ He points his spoon towards his laptop screen, where Emma Stone is breaking up with Justin Timberlake.

Isaac walks across the room and closes the laptop with a  _snap_. ‘It’s Valentine’s Day, you need to come out with me.’ He turns on the puppy eyes, and Derek claps a hand across his eyes.

‘Don’t do the eyes, you know they freak me out!’

‘I’ll stop if you come,’ Isaac says, turning to rummage around in Derek’s closet. He comes out with Derek’s lucky leather jacket, shakes it, and holds it out for Derek.

‘Fine,’ Derek acquiesces, reaching for it. He slips it on and changes his sweatpants for jeans, and then follows Isaac down the stairs.

*

Café Italia is, predictably, very crowded when he and Isaac get there. There’s a hustle and bustle in the air that isn’t usually present, waiters speed walking around with plates balanced precariously on their arms. Jackson’s set Isaac up with one of his friends, some guy named Danny who Isaac described as a ‘hot Hawaiian piece of meat that I would eat off the ground’. Derek’s not sure what that means, but it sounds unsanitary.

‘Hey, I’m Danny,’ Danny greets, extending a hand for Derek to shake. ‘And this is Lydia.’

‘We’ve met,’ Lydia says. She motions for them to sit down, but her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and it sets off warning bells in Derek’s mind. He realises that this is Stiles’ friend Lydia, Jackson’s ex Lydia. He sneaks a glance at her purse, and then her shoes, trying to remember Cora’s tips on evaluating girls based on their accessories. He’s not sure what double C’s on a purse mean – hippie? Old money? Liar? – but her heels are at least five inches and that’s a worrying sign, Derek’s sure. She could stab him with those. She could murder him and leave him for dead with those. It occurs to Derek that he's worried about being murdered on the last two dates he's been on; he's not sure what that says about him. Nothing good, he's sure.

‘So tell me about yourself, Derek,’ Lydia says, swirling a straw around an orange-coloured drink. ‘Major, siblings, hometown, all that good stuff.’

‘I’m a business major, history minor. Three siblings, one dog. Los Altos Hills, next to Palo Alto,’ he rattles off. ‘And yourself?’

‘Applied mathematics and molecular biology, double major, minor in art history. No siblings, one dog. Arcata, up north.’

‘Wow, I feel like we’ve known each other our whole lives!’ Derek says enthusiastically.

Lydia laughs, like he’s surprised it out of her, just as their waiter approaches to take their order. Thankfully it’s not Stiles again – just some guy named Ilanko. Derek’s not sure he could handle Stiles on V Day. Come to think of it, he just hopes that Stiles isn’t working on Valentine’s Day; that would suck.

After ordering, the conversation drifts through topics, first TV shows and then movies, Interstellar versus Inception, and then whether Jennifer Lawrence’s public persona is a fraud. (They all agree vehemently that it is, and then contemplate how much Nicholas Hoult was paid to date her.) It’s easy, in a way that blind double dates rarely are, and Derek finds that he’s having a good time, even if Lydia is the complete opposite of his type. (Read: way too similar to Laura, and thus terrifying to even think about dating.) She’s looking at him in a calculating sort of way, as if she’s puzzling out the deepest secrets of his soul bit by bit, until she’ll be able to unravel him, Sherlock Holmes style. Still, in small doses, Derek thinks Lydia might be doable.

Isaac, meanwhile, has practically got heart-shaped eyes as he looks at Danny. They trade jabs and jokes back and forth, and once Danny makes Isaac laugh so hard wine spurts out his nose. He looks at Danny in horrified surprise afterwards, but amazingly enough, Danny looks fond rather than appalled..

Ilanko brings them the dessert menu and they hem and haw over it before Lydia rolls her eyes and tells them they’ll just split two things, stop fussing, you’re all babies, and they settle on raspberry sorbet and chocolate covered strawberries. They split the check four ways when they're done, and linger at the entrance to the restaurant saying their goodbyes before splitting up, Isaac and Danny, and Derek and Lydia.

‘Hold on one second,’ Lydia says, turning to dart back into the restaurant, and Derek smiles, nods, puts his hands in the pockets of his jeans as he waits for her. After a while he turns from looking at the sky to looking at couples through the windows, and that’s when he sees Lydia having what seems to be a very aggressive conversation with Stiles in the back corner of the restaurant. Derek knows he shouldn’t be looking, but he can’t help it, and inches closer to the window to satisfy his curiosity. He sees Lydia shake her long, red curls violently, and scoff using her whole body. Stiles, in turn, fists a hand in his own hair and gestures vigorously with the other hand. They continue like that for a couple minutes, Derek getting more and more puzzled by the second, until Lydia steps back, puts up her hands, and walks back to the door, leaving Stiles sputtering.

Derek whips around, pulls out his phone, and mashes his fingers around randomly. ‘Sorry,’ Lydia says breathlessly, ‘hope I didn’t make you wait long.’

‘No, not at all.’ He offers her his arm and pockets his phone. ‘Shall we?’

*

It’s a Friday evening a week after Valentine’s Day when Stiles shows up at his door.

Derek smiles automatically, and says, ‘Stiles? Hi!’ even as he’s seriously debating whether or not he should just close the door in Stiles’ face. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Hi,’ Stiles says. He takes in a breath, looks down at his shoes, and then up with a hopeful expression on his face. ‘Uh… I was wondering if we could talk? If you have time, I mean.’

‘I always have time for you,’ Derek says without thinking, and immediately wants to slap himself in the face. Damn, he chides himself, wishing he could take back that last beer. Too unfiltered.  _Way_ too genuine.

‘Are your frat buddies around?’

‘Nah, they went to some party. Come on in.’

He steps back, opening the door wider so Stiles can come in. He leads him inside, watches as he looks around the house curiously. He's betting this is the first time Stiles has been inside a fraternity house while the lights are on and people aren’t drunk out of their minds. Derek’s hands are starting to sweat and he’s getting that restless feeling, the one he gets when he’s not sure what’s coming and it’s throwing him for a loop. Just to do something, he walks to the kitchen, opens the fridge door, and turns to look at Stiles. ‘You want anything?’ he asks.

‘No, uh, I’m good. Thanks.’

Derek grabs a pint of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream from the freezer, two spoons, and leans back against the counter as he offers a spoon to Stiles.

‘I said I was fine,’ Stiles says with a smile, even as he scoops up a piece of cookie dough.

‘You seem like a perpetually hungry kinda person,’ Derek shrugs. He chews for a second, and looks thoughtfully at Stiles, trying his hardest to be very, very casual. ‘So, what’s up?’

Stiles looks at him like a deer in the headlights, spoon halfway to his mouth. He quickly swallows the bite of ice cream and clears his throat.

‘I just – I wanted to apologise.’

Derek raises an eyebrow, intrigued. Of all the ways he thought this night would go, he didn’t see this coming.

‘I wanted – I  _want_ ,’ he corrects himself, ‘ – to say sorry for the way I treated you and all your friends. I was a real piece of shit, and you didn’t deserve that.’ He looks expectantly at Derek, like that’s it, that’s all he rehearsed before coming here.

Derek’s not going to give it to him that easy.

He sets the ice cream down on the counter and crosses his arms. ‘Go on,’ he prompts.

Stiles huffs. ‘You really want me to say more?’

Derek pulls a face, making Stiles grin. ‘It’s the least you could do, after…’ He trails off meaningfully.

Stiles’ face quickly sobers and he nods seriously, tapping the spoon against the palm of one hand. ‘Yeah, no, I agree. I was really, really shitty to you. If anything, I lived up to the asshole frat guy stereotypes out there more than you did. Like, I’m sorry for freaking out at you all those times, and for getting weird whenever you’d come to Café Italia, and for running away all suspicious-like at Halloween, and...you get it.’

Derek looks at him for a long moment, trying to judge the weight of his words, before saying, ‘Apology accepted.’ He holds out a hand for Stiles to shake. ‘Truce?’

‘More than,’ Stiles says with a grateful smile.

They stay like that, and it’s – well – awkward. Very much so. Derek can feel sweat on his hands and he’s not sure if it’s his or Stiles’. Probably both.

Finally, Derek withdraws his hand, gives it a shake and tries to subtly wipe off a little sweat on his jeans. ‘Okay,’ he says.

‘Okay,’ Stiles nods.

‘Okay,’ Derek repeats.

‘Okay.’

Derek cracks a smile and Stiles lets out a laugh, and it’s…good, Derek decides, to have Stiles smiling at him for the first time ever, real and small and there.

*

They talk for a couple more minutes while they finish off the pint of ice cream, small talk mainly, the kind of stuff you ask a distant cousin when you’re stuck at the kids’ table together. Derek learns that Stiles is from Arcata, which is, apparently, the town Humboldt State is in – who knew? His dad is the sheriff, and his mom died when he was little. (Stiles gets a sad, distant look on his face when they talk about that, so Derek quickly moves on.) He’s majoring in medical microbiology, minoring in philosophy, and raises his eyebrows when Derek tells him he’s a business major with a minor in history. Derek'Stiles’ favourite superhero is Spiderman, and he had a huge Third Eye Blind phase in high school. He’s always wanted a dog, but their family never had the time for one growing up – he coos at the photos of Peter that Derek shows him. The pint of ice cream finished, Derek escorts Stiles to the door and sends him off with a wave and a promise to go out for – purely platonic, he reassures Stiles – lunch sometime.

‘Thanks,’ Stiles says at the doorstep, ‘for tonight. You didn’t have to let me in, and…thanks.’

‘Of course.’ Derek smiles back, gives a wave as he leaves, and watches Stiles walk down the street, leaning against the doorway until he’s just a dot in the distance.

He goes back inside and clicks off the TV, cleaning up a bit of mess before flopping onto his bed. He lies like that for – he’s not sure how long, but he can hear Isaac and everyone else noisily barging in, clattering around drunkenly as they make their way to their respective bedrooms. He’s not sure what to make of Stiles now. Are they friends now? Friendly acquaintances? Will they say hi to each other in the dining hall? Will Jackson start bringing him to Alpha Tau Omega parties again? Is he ever going to see Stiles again, or was this just a way for Stiles to tie up loose ends?

Derek rolls over and kicks the sheet off, sighing. This is probably what those teenage heroines in romantic comedies felt like, putting too much emphasis on October 3rd and gouda cheese. He scoffs at himself, but when he looks out of his window to see the moon glowing in the night sky, he falls right back into that familiar, favourite daydream – a sunny morning the first month of school, literally bumping into Stiles inside Trader Joe’s, a smile and an exchange of phone numbers, and then…

But that was then, and this is now, and Derek has no time for unrequited daydreams on the way things could have gone. He turns his back on the moon, clicks the lamp on his bedside table off, and closes his eyes.

*

March dawns sunny and bright, and with it the basketball game against their rival school. Coach Finstock runs the team into the ground mercilessly the week before the game, pushing them harder and harder in pursuit of victory. ‘I’m going to die,’ is probably the most used sentence by Boyd that week.

Erica drives down and dresses in blue and gold instead of Cal Poly’s green and gold, and when Derek smirks about it she doesn’t even snap back, just ruffles his hair and kisses Boyd on the cheek before walking out of the locker rooms, where she definitely isn’t supposed to be.

‘Alright team,’ Finstock says, clapping his hands together until the team gathers ‘round him. ‘You all know how bad I am at pep speeches – ’ there’s a muttering of agreement ‘ – alright, alright, didn’t need that, but the point is. Let’s go out there and show ‘em what us Gauchos are made of!’

The team shouts and hollers their way out, bravado covering up their nerves, and then the whistle blows and Derek’s mind goes blank, letting the familiar roaring of a game enter his mind and drown out the distractions. They win the game 64 to 56, Boyd scoring the winning shot, and the roaring in Derek’s ears turns into a real life roar, cheers from the crowd as he grins up at them sweaty and exhausted. They hoist Boyd up onto their shoulders and scream so much Derek thinks he’ll go hoarse, and he’s still running on the high of victory when they roll up to the after party.

They’re the men of the hour, getting cheers as they walk into the Sigma Kappa house, and the team immediately makes a beeline for the kitchen. Justin, their team captain, gives a rousing two-word speech (‘Fuck yeah!’), and with that they’re each throwing back a shot of tequila, ready to get the night started.

Derek and Boyd find their brothers quickly, and that’s another shot, and then Erica comes, and that’s another shot. He bumps into Allison, who tipsily yells ‘Derek!’ and envelops him in a warm hug, and that’s yet another shot. He says hi to Kali, plays a game of beer pong with Jackson, and then somehow he finds himself standing in a corner, very seriously pondering a green and pink lava lamp.

‘Interesting choice of viewing material,’ a voice to his left says, and Derek turns to see Stiles, looking sinfully good with artfully mussed hair and a loose grin on his face.

Derek blinks and takes a sip of his drink, elbowing Stiles softly in the side. ‘I’m just trying to find art all around me, you feel what I mean?’

‘Of course, of course,’ Stiles laughs. He says something else, but Derek can’t hear him over the loud voices and thumping music in the house.

‘I’m sorry, what?’ He leans closer in an effort to hear.

Stiles’ mouth opens, but the only word Derek can make out is ‘here’, which doesn’t make any sense.

Shaking his head, Derek tugs on Stiles’ arm and leads him out to the backyard, which is quieter, but not by much. ‘I could not hear a thing you were saying in there,’ he says.

‘No, right, same here. So, lava lamps?’

‘I’m so into lava lamps, man.’

Stiles laughs so hard he doubles over, and Derek’s too drunk and happy to be insulted because, dude, he was being serious. Lava lamps are the shit. When Stiles resurfaces, he takes a sip of his drink and turns to lean against the porch. ‘Play a game with me.’

‘Did I hear a question mark or please in that sentence?’ Derek asks, putting on a puzzled expression.

‘No,’ Stiles laughs, ‘it was a demand. C’mon, play a game with me!’

‘Alright, alright, what game?’

‘Truth or Dare.’

‘Are we twelve again?’

Stiles smirks at him. ‘What, you scared?’

‘No,’ Derek scowls. ‘I’m down.’

*

So, they play.

They roll around on the law mooing like cows and put ice cubes down their underwear, run screaming Beyoncé through the upstairs hallway where people are hooking up, and Stiles gives Jackson a hilariously bad lap dance. Stiles makes Derek call Cora and ask her very seriously about her period for a solid fifteen minutes, and in retaliation Derek dares Stiles to convince Scott he wants to date him. (‘Oh, bro, I’m – I’m real sorry, but I just – I don’t – I love you, man, just not – I mean we can date if you really want to? Stiles, I – ’)

Stiles is hilarious, just like Derek knew he’d be, and he’s smart too, sharp tongue and knife-edge wit. He peppers his speech with pop culture references, only half of which Derek understands, and he laughs with his whole body. His little gang of friends drift in and out of his orbit all night long, coming up to check on him at various points, and Zoe Barbieri propositions him with the line, ‘You’re the sea, I’m the Titanic – I’ll go down on you.’ at one point. Stiles declines the invite, which Derek appreciates, even though he knows he shouldn’t read too much into it.

By midnight, the party’s starting to reach the point where people are throwing up in the backyard, so Derek turns to Stiles and says, ‘D’you wanna head back to my place?’

Stiles’ face shutters immediately, and Derek quickly throws up his hands, tequila and cranberry juice sloshing out of the cup in his hand.

‘Not like that, not like that! Just to go somewhere quieter and with food and no barf.’

‘Uh – ’

‘What, you scared?’ Derek challenges, echoing Stiles’ words from earlier in the night, and Stiles laughs and stands up, pulls Derek up after him with a warm hand.

*

They stumble and trip their way back to the Alpha Tau house, laughing about their state, and Derek drops his keys three times before Stiles takes it and unlocks the door for them. ‘Bedroom, living room, or yard?’ Derek asks Stiles, motioning in each direction with a box of Cheez-It’s. Stiles picks the backyard, and they lay down right in the center, put on a Spotify playlist titled Indie Brunch, and look at the stars, trying their hardest to find a penis shape.

‘Hey,’ Derek says, poking Stiles in the cheek with a Cheez-It. ‘High five for your thoughts? I’d say penny, but I don’t actually have my wallet on me right now.’

‘I’m thinking…I’m glad we’re here right now. You’re...not as bad as I thought you’d be.’

‘Wow, what a glowing review,’ Derek laughs. He turns his head to face Stiles. ‘You know, you need to loosen up a little. Be spontaneous, make mistakes. Stop being so damn cautious about things. Lukewarm is no good.’

Stiles wrinkles up his nose. ‘Is that plagiarism? I think Roald Dahl said that.’

‘Whatever, whoever said it was onto something.’

After a while, Stiles says quietly, ‘You’re probably right,’ in a sad, wistful sort of tone.

‘Hey, hey. Just ‘cause you can get better doesn’t mean you’re not good already.’ He nudges Stiles’ shoulder with his own. ‘Don’t beat yourself up, yeah?’

Stiles smiles at him softly, murmurs ‘Thanks,’ and they turn their heads back up towards the night sky. Sometime during an acoustic version of a Hozier song the lights of the frat house click on, and Isaac runs around yelling for Derek, but they don’t notice, eyes already shut, fast asleep with their shoulders pressed together, both dreaming of fairytales and a happy ending for themselves, whatever that might be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm on tumblr at [alphaass](http://alphaass.tumblr.com/) \- come hang out!  
> (this is totally un-betaed, so feel free to point out mistakes! just be prepared to hold my hand while i cry afterwards. kidding. but only a little bit.)


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